I Know I Won't Get Out (if i fall in)
by thetideisrising
Summary: later, he nearly dies. (a glimpse at a scarletamerica relationship post aou and pre civil war, third in tere's something in the look you give)


**This one is a lot shorter, but at least it was quicker than the last one. I hope you all enjoy, and I do not own The Avengers nor do I intend to.**

~(~

For the first three days he was in a coma, she clutches tightly to the sheets surrounding her, rocking herself back and forth as a coping mechanism.

"Wanda," Clint had said once as he hovered in her doorway. "Can you –"

"No."

No one else approaches her.

She had nearly slipped this far once before; when Pietro had passed she had lost a part of her soul with him as well. Steve had been her only link to the rest of the world before; he had pulled her from the depths and allowed for her to crawl back into his embrace. He had allowed for her to grow, allowed her to cultivate a new meaning for herself without being too sheltered.

Now that he was indisposed, it was as if all of the tragedies of her short but miserable life had caught up with her at once, overtaking all of the steppes toward happiness that she had carefully crafted over the stretch of her years.

There was something so calming about the sheets that covered her queen sized bed, they were thin, yet they did a beautiful job of protecting her from the cold air her ceiling fan blasted throughout the dark blue room.

Sometimes she wonders why she chose blue; her favorite color is red. It's at times like this she can appreciate the color; red represents blood, but blue represents sadness, and that's all she feels now.

On the third day, she clutches the comforter to her chest, staring toward the wall opposite of the window with a vacant stare.

This is when the widow enters.

"Wanda," she prods, and if Steve had not taught her better, she would have blasted the red haired woman to hell.

She elects to continue to stare at the wall.

"Agent Maximoff," the widow barks, and she is so frightened that she forces herself to look toward her.

"I am ordering you to get out of that damn bed."

Wanda stares back at her, unable to keep her mouth shut.

"Oh please, _Natalia,_ as if you got out of bed when you found out thatClint was married."

It should not have made her smile; she hated inflicting pain upon others, but she could not help but snicker at the small tightening of the red haired woman's jaw.

"You have no right to bring that up, do you hear me?"

A fight was boiling underneath the surface, both women could tell.

"Wanda," a new voice reasoned from the shadows behind the widow.

"Dr. Banner," she said hopefully, perching upward at the slight possibility of Steve's condition.

"He's awake."

She ran out of the room.

~(~

The battle was a valiant one.

She remembers blue blood spilling from creatures she had only foreseen, rainbows and men who wielded powers similar to hers. The distress call she had received from Thor had blinded her for hours, and when she had awoken from her miniature coma, she had declared that Thor was in danger.

Steve told everyone to suit up, and despite the frenzied worries from her, he elected to be the first one to charge. He told her to stay and rest, brow furrowed as he lovingly pressed a kiss to her lips.

Twenty-three minutes later he was carried into the medical bay on a stretcher, his skin a pale blue. As Mr. Stark filled her in on the heroism that Steve had displayed, she subconsciously began to rip apart his suit that was charging in the corner.

No one approaches her after that.

She stays in her room, the red and lack playing with her vision until the Widow comes to speak to her. The colors always bug her, and now that he's not there to hold her hand, she dooms herself to a void of emotion. Her brother always told her that the colors represented her emotions, and he tried to help her control them. He was good, but Steve was better.

She flies through the med bay at top speed, eyes wild as she scans the nurses around him.

"Steve?" she cries out, the black overwhelming her as she quivers in place, attempting to block out the strange looks the nurses were giving her.

"I'm right here Wanda," he says, his voice soft.

It was a queer sight to the nurses, the mad girl in love with the golden boy. In a twisted way, it was the like the love of Finnick and Annie in the _Hunger Games,_ completely uncalled for in their eyes, and quite frankly, disturbing.

The pair didn't care though, she rushed forward to his side, and he pulled her in for a lingering kiss as she sobbed, worry radiating from her fingers, as a twist of red matter twirled from her nimble fingers, creating a little bubble to separate them from the rest of the room.

"You scared the hell out of me," she whispers, caressing his face as the red around them dimmed.

"I'm safe now Wanda, but you have to let go of the colors darling, I think you're scaring the nurses," he said, his brow furrowing with concern.

She hesitated before nodding vehemently. She snapped her fingers, and the red dissipated from the surrounding atmosphere.

"Better?" she asked, her breathing beginning to come under control as he smiled up at her.

He nodded, raising his head to look her in the eye.

"I'm worried about you," he said, and she rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, a small smile glancing her features.

"You nearly died Steve, I think you can stop worrying about me for a few hours."

"I can't help it," he shrugged, grimacing as his side erupted in pain.

"We're going to be okay right?" she asked him, laying her head on his chest, his heart beat soothing her fragile state.

"It'll be a hell of a ride, but I think we'll be fine in the end."

She smiled.

~(~

 **I hope you all enjoyed! There's only one more story in this series and I'm finished with it! Please review! xx**


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